


Revenge

by PGT



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, Dream Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Revenge Sex, Smut, Tentacle Rape, Underwater Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: On their second take to the seas, Fjord is given a grim reminder of who exactly he's pissed off. Caduceus reassures him it won't happen again.!!!READ THE TAGS. Noncon is graphic, do not read if you don't want to read that!!!
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Fjord/Uk'otoa (Critical Role)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 115





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Not what I usually write, evidently! I want to be clear that I do not condone sexual violence in any way. Fanfics are a safe space to explore these conditions without harming ourselves or others.  
> This is a one off. though I have more in mind for it, I don't know that I have the mental fortitude to write this kind of stuff too deeply.

Fjord was almost sure he was dreaming, but it was always impossible to tell. The longer he traveled with the mighty nein, the less that was “impossible” or “dreamlike.” Even the dense pressure of an ocean, and that massive eye staring him down like a god casting judgement-- well. It wasn’t certain. 

But it had been so long. He’d been accepted as Melora’s. Caduceus guided him to a loving, nurturing goddess. He thought this shit would have ended. But here it was, watching.

“I’m not afraid of you.” He growled at the eye, pleased to find he felt no doubt in the statement-- it was true, he trusted the everpresent warmth of Melora to keep him safe from the leviathan. Bubbles rippled from his mouth as he spoke, though he felt no sense of drowning. Another of her gifts.

From all sides, the water rumbled, causing his sight to blur at the omnipresent motion. An all too familiar voice found his ears. 

**_Revenge._ **   
  


“I don’t need you, it’s over.” Fjord snarled, flexing his hand to summon his blade-- its cool weight reassuring against his palm. Its existence in his dream was proof: Fjord was free.

The water shook again, and the deity repeated itself. Fjord was contemplating how far he would have to swim towards the eye to strike the being when something warm touched his ankle.

He flinched, eyes darting down to see what was below him in the normally empty expanse of his dreamscape. There was always the eye and the implication of an incomprehensibly massive body, but these…  _ appendages _ were new.

From the ever writhing serpentine body of Uk’otoa, something Fjord could only describe as tentacles reached forward, infinitely long, flexing like muscle and yet, in the grand scheme of the creature’s figure, no bigger than a cat’s whisker. 

Fjord found that as he swept his arms down to push away from their creeping presence, he could not move. They engulfed him-- first snaring his feet and spiralling up his legs, another taking hold of his sword arm, preventing him from lashing out. They were impossibly strong, and as soon as his limbs were bound it was all fjord could do to wriggle his waist before even that was restrained. He felt his breath hasten, and with his chest expanding he felt smaller tendrils, less muscular than the ones holding him taut. They pushed below the clothes that he wore-- in the dream, he was despairingly underdressed-- everything but his leathers. He felt them over his stomach, exploring with finger-like dexterity. Searching for  _ something. _   
  
Heat radiated from Fjord’s stomach, and he felt suddenly light headed. He looked back up at the eye. Unflinching, observing. “Wait.” He cursed how weak he sounded.

Uk’otoa did not respond. Seemingly, he’d already said all he needed to.

**_Revenge._ **

Again, Fjord wrestled for control of his body. It was no use. The smaller feelers tugged at his clothes, tearing the stitches until they tore loose, and Fjord was bare chested. He felt the waistline of his breeches fall beneath his ass, tugged by several tendrils that immediately found the plump flesh something worth fondling. He moved to struggle again, stopping only knowing how futile it would be. He should save his energy-- but what good would that do? He was a prisoner in his own damned dream.

He felt his mouth moving-- pleading to the serpent, begging. Pathetic. Losing a fight even in his own head. His ears felt flooded, his sight was blurry, but every touch burned across his skin. Several tendrils pondered his nipples, the irregular skin something they seemingly fixated on, flicking at the nubs in a way that would normally have Fjord throwing his head back. The ones that found his ass were delving deeper, threatening to find his entrance and beyond that, his cock, which he was dismayed to find was not as limp as he might expect.

He tried to push the feelings away. He tried to focus on the one prayer to Melora Caduceus had taught him, but the words weren’t coming to him. He caught himself looking back and forth, from the tendrils binding him to the eye. It cast an ugly yellow over his body, and he felt like crying as it stained him with its sickly light.  _ It’s fucking claiming me. _

A tendril threatened to enter his mouth. He resolutely bit it, and it was not attempted again.

There was too much going on, and then there was more, as the small feelers groping his ass finally brushed his entrance, taking only a matter of seconds to breach it. They were small, but it wouldn’t have mattered to Fjord if they had been thinner than a hair or large enough to tear him apart. They were Uk’otoa, taking him. A full-body shiver wracked his body, and had he not been submerged, tears would have flown freely. As it was his eyes only stung. He thrashed, for all the good it did him.

More and more tendrils pushed into him, until their presence was substantial, spreading him wider and finding each fold of his intestines, marking them. He glared back at the eye, and felt as if it was delighted. But maybe it was indifferent; there was no telling, but the idea that this was pointless to the creature was almost worse to him than if it had felt like justice.

When the knot of flexing tentacles started to grow uncomfortable, thicker than any humanoid penis and reaching far deeper, Fjord was relieved to feel them retract. That was, until they spread him wide, presenting him to  _ something. _   
  


The next tentacle that pushed past the muscular ring was neither the small feelers or the strong leathery kind that held him. It was of a soft flesh with a disturbingly gooey texture. As soon as the head-- if there was any distinction-- pushed through, it was clear that it was meant exactly for the sole purpose of sex.   
  
Slick mucous immediately coated Fjord’s insides, and he had the strong urge to vomit at the warmth infiltrating him. As it pushed further and further, far enough that the flexing silhouette was visible as he watched his own stomach, snaking through his abdomen, he briefly understood that his breathing would be considered hyperventilating. Once more he attempted to thrash free. No chance.

This tendril pushed in and out of him, a constant oozing filling him more and more until he swore he could taste it. If he focused on the eye, on counting to a thousand, on the bubbles that poured from his mouth as he screamed, maybe he could stop thinking about the fullness he felt, of the betrayal his cock was enacting, standing proud, the one part of his body the tendrils neglected. He wanted to die at how  _ disappointed  _ that made him.

It took him, used him, and it had almost become monotonous and patterned in its thrusting that Fjord was going numb to it. The tentacles holding him still were lax, and yet he made no effort to squirm out. The warm ooze was meeting his body temperature, and if he didn’t look down, he could forget it. Eventually, it had to be over.   
  


And then he felt… something else. Forced out of the tentacle, little somethings. Little marbles, almost like...   
  


Eggs.

The tendril pushed as deep as it could go, and thousands of the little things shot forward. If he looked down-- which he did, much to his horror-- he would see the translucent skin of the appendage was full of the tiny things, shooting into his body and extending his belly, filling him until it hurt, until he was begging again, until he was cursing Uk’otoa for all the good that did him. It was all babble but for one phrase.

“Take them out!”

And then he blinked, and he was somewhere else.

  
  


At first it wasn’t all that different. He was still absolutely drenched, thrashing against an unknown force, screaming. Only this time, he felt the heavy weight clatter to the ground, and painstakingly slowly realized where he was, abed in the captain’s quarters of his own ship.

Still heaving breaths, he didn’t hear what was being said, only that something was being said. He turned to find Orly struggling to stand, barely more than a blur against the adrenaline fucking with his senses. 

“Caduceus, I need Caduceus.” He choked out, before his throat contracted, and he emptied his stomach onto the floor beside him.

  
He didn’t hear Orly’s reply, but managed to see him lumber out of the room. On the floor, a pool of saltwater grew, and Fjord felt tears fall, relieved that no eggs floated within it.

By the time he had stopped retching, and his breaths were closer to normal, the Firbolg burst through the door. Caduceus’ eyes were about as wild as Fjord imagined his own to be, but they softened as they met his. He strode forward in a loose silky robe cinched at the waist with a scarf-like belt, and no sooner than he could reach Fjord did a spell fall from his lips.

Fjord felt his breathing regulate against his own will, felt his shoulders lax, the muscles in his face soften. 

“Better?” The familiar baritone purr found Fjord’s ears, and he nodded sluggishly. 

“Do you need healed?” Caduceus took in the puddle beneath his feet-- he’d not hesitated to step through it in his urgency-- and around the room, for signs of what had caused this.

Fjord choked out a “no,” the sound coarse in his raw throat. Shaky fingers clutched the cleric’s sleeve, tugging him forward until he sat on the side of the bed. Wordlessly, Fjord pulled the taller man into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder.

He centered himself in the man’s velvety fur, in his silken hair and robe, in the warm solidness of his body. Of the gentle press of his hands on Fjord’s back. He shuddered out a breath that came out more like a sob, and Caduceus cast Calm Emotions again. It was a weak attempt to make things right.

“We shouldn’t have come back,” Fjord croaked into Caduceus’ chest. He only hummed in reply, stroking his back in circles. 

“He was in your dream?” The base rumbled through Fjord’s chest, and he found with disgust he had mixed feelings about the sensation. 

He pulled back from the vibration, instead focusing on Caduceus’ face. On the bed ruffled hair of a man awake at a moment’s notice to care for his captain. On the compassion that radiated from his eyes, before anything else. Pink and velvety blue. No yellow, no green. “It was worse than usual--” He started.

“Don’t tell me if it won’t help you. Only tell me if you need to.”

Fjord found that he’d rather die than replay those memories right now. “I still feel it.” He clenched his fists. If the tug on Caduceus’ fur hurt, he didn’t flinch.    
  


“What do you need from me, Mister Fjord?” His hands found Fjord’s shoulders, a reassuring weight.

“Tell me this is real.”   
  
Caduceus smiled softly, and raised a hand to Fjord’s face. To his surprise, Caduceus pinched his cheek. “You’re as real as me and the bed and the boat, and the sky and that silly hat.” He pointed to the hat Jester and he had gotten him, and between that and the sting of the pinch, Fjord felt himself smile, too.

He put his forehead against Caduceus’ chest, the robe loose enough that he landed in the open V of fluffy pink chest hair. “Tell me I’m safe.”

Caduceus’ arms slid down Fjord’s back, stopping at his hips. There was a beat of hesitation, where Caduceus lay his chin on top of Fjord’s head. “I won’t let him touch you.” He said in a somber tone. Fjord believed him.

“That’s not what I asked,” Fjord forced a laugh, making as much of a joke as he could bear to.

A gentle kiss pressed against his hairline. “It’s true all the same,” Caduceus rumbled. His fingers danced on Fjord’s back, and he felt the warm presence of Caducecus’ magic radiate outward. Before he could ask, Caduceus clarified. “Protection from Evil. I’ll save it for you every night we sail if I have to.”

It was reassuring. But still, there was a pressing need to know…

“Caduceus...” he pulled away again, just enough to press a light kiss against Caduceus’ lips. He looked him earnestly in the eyes, and though the thought of it made him want to tremble, he needed to know.

“In the dream...” Caduceus’ face grew wary, but with Fjord’s pause he squeezed reassuringly.

“He put something… inside of me. Not another eye. It was… he vandalized me.” He felt his throat close, and looked away. 

“I understand.” Caduceus murmured. “What would you have me do?”

Fjord knew he shouldn’t be ashamed. Caduceus wasn’t just his mentor, or his crew, he was more than that, even if it had never been said. And still, shame burned his ears and curled like lead weights in his stomach. He covered his face with a hand.

“I don’t know if it’s like the seawater, where I wake up with it.”

A pause. “You want me to clean you out?”

The phrase left him humiliated, and he found himself shaking his head, though it was exactly what he’d been asking for. “I don’t know! I just. Be there for me, maybe; I’ll do it I just...” 

A hand squeezed his shoulder again. “Mister Fjord, I’ll assist you however is most comfortable.”

He looked up and found this was true. Looking Caduceus in the eye, he knew he would do anything for him.

He glanced around, though for what he was unsure. He was as decent as this would get, he supposed. “Lock the door, please. And um, turn around.”

“Of course.” Caduceus stood from the bed and did so, resting at the door faced away.

Reluctant, Fjord patted down the crotch of his pants. The sweat of his sleep and the seawater he’d coughed up made the wetness indeterminable, but to his horror he found his erection had retained its vigor from the dream.

He ignored it, shucking his pants to his knees and cautiously reaching behind himself. He was reassured at the tightness of the hole, but not truly confident that that meant anything. He glanced up, finding that Caduceus hadn’t moved. Still.

“This is fuckin awkward.”

“It’s completely natural, Clerics are well versed in all sorts of procedures.” Caduceus drawled calmly. “Though not my speciality it isn’t out of my range of expertise, witnessing or enacting.”

Fjord swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Ducey.” He pushed a finger in.

“I would advise a lubricant,” Caduceus went on, but Fjord found he wasn’t really listening. The fact of the matter was there might be something growing inside of him right now, and that was nauseating. He probed deep, unkind to his own flesh, the urgency of his fear more pertinent than his safety in this moment. It was neither slick nor containing any eggs, so far as he could reach. In his search, he pressed hard against his prostate, ushering out a gasp.

Cad’s ears shot up, his natural slouch straightening. Thankfully, he didn’t turn around. “What is it?” His voice was grave, and his fingers flexed as if he were ready to cast a spell if he needed.

“Nothing! Nothing, ‘duce. I uh.” Fjord huffed a small laugh. ”It’s stupid, really.”

Cad’s ears drooped, but his tone stayed serious. “Your condition is not stupid, Mr. Fjord.”

“No, I think it’s… It’s all good, I think. Nothing in-inside me.”

He slid his finger out, ignoring his body’s desire for more. He swiped his hand clean against the leg of his pants and hiked them back up. There was no hiding his erection, though as long as Caduceus had been here, Fjord relented that he must have already noticed it.   
  
“Erm. you can turn around again, I suppose.”

Caduceus did so, eyes falling first on Fjord’s face, and remaining there. “All good?” He asked softly, returning to the foot of the bed. 

“All good.” it was a lie, but there was little either of them could do, in this situation.

“Just gonna get rid of this and get up early, I guess.” He forced a chuckle, which Caduceus only frowned at.

“Was your sleep in any way restful? As for that,” he pointed unabashedly at Fjord’s tented pants, “I’d hardly dare leave you to it alone with your thoughts.”

His voice softened. A light blush dusted his cheeks. “Of course, only if you’d like. I mean, I thought I’d offer.”

Fjord felt his own cheeks warm. But Caduceus was right. Left alone, he would either be left to ignore it and find himself lost in thought of its cause, or take care of it with the same thoughts looming. With Caduceus, though…

“I… only if you want, Caduceus.”

The firbolg rounded the bed, sitting beside Fjord once more and leaning far less clinically into his space. ”I want you to feel better, Fjord.” He said in a hush tone, even as his fingers brushed Fjord’s thigh. With his other hand, he pressed down on Fjord’s chest until he fell against sweat-soaked pillows. 

“Just don’t hold my arms or legs down,” Fjord muttered. Caduceus’ movements stuttered, but he hummed affirmingly. “Of course not. We’re just gonna take care of this and have you in a clean bed resting until lunchtime.”

  
  


Confident hands roamed Fjord’s body, and with every stroke he felt as if a coat of yellow paint was being stripped away, repainted in the pale pink of Caduceus. He let himself relax into the feeling, let himself really embrace who this was. That he was loved. That this wasn’t a dream.

Caduceus didn’t strip him more than necessary, only sliding his pants down enough that his cock could be freed, the dual-tone green length standing proudly to attention.Caduceus took it, pumping it lazily with one hand while his other pushed Fjord’s shirt up, the Firbolg leaving light kisses against the Halforc’s stomach. When he thumbed the head, beads of precum pooled, and Caduceus smeared them down the shaft, slicking it.

Fjord would have been happy to cum quickly to Cad’s hand, but he couldn’t deny how good his lips felt when they surrounded his head, or how his warm, wide tongue was a perfect texture against his cock, how his throat was tight and warm and took all of him in. Cad wasn’t an expert, but he knew Fjord’s body. He palmed at his balls and lapped stripes up the bottom vein of his cock, taking it all in and feeling it twitch against his lips. Caduceus bobbed on Fjord’s cock, deep, filling thrusts released and paired with light kisses and licks all up the shaft. When Fjord came, he was crying. Cad tucked him back into his pants and, despite his weight, picked him up. 

He took Fjord downstairs without conflict, and by the time he tucked the Halforc into bed he was asleep, Caduceus’ spells warding him from any ill presence that wished to disturb him. He left the room long enough to craft a filling breakfast and to demand no disturbances to his resting quarters, orders followed to a T. He returned to his room, settling against the floor and watching Fjord’s breath for any sign of a disturbance. He’d been honest in his vow to keep Fjord safe, but what was he to do?

“Melora, guide me.”

  
  
  



End file.
